


we can make this work

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnancy, assholes in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5819998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A love story like falling down and scraping your knee, but then really digging your gnarly new scar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i scream for ice cream

Stiles is kind of an asshole all nine months.

Seriously, such a complete shit. Like, imagine Stiles: everyday annoying, highly inappropriate but _still manipulatively adorable motherfuck_ \- and multiply that by ten. Or twenty. Or by the circumference of his (frankly monstrously huge) belly. They’re at week 37. So they’ve made it this far. But -

“ _ **Derek!**_ ” Stiles whispers, loud and harsh in the dark of their bed room. “I want ice cream. Vanilla. No - chocolate. Actually! Do you think you can find that ginger pumpkin yogurt – ?”

“It’s freezing out,” Derek points out, uselessly. “It’s two in the morning. And you just ate a foot long sandwich two hours ago.”

“I know.” Stiles responds, smiling and seemingly at total peace with his new role as the demanding, swollen and fertile god of junk foods. “I still want it.”

And Derek - God help him - he wants Stiles and he _wants_ that warm look on Stiles face when Derek returns with whatever, whenever. Fuck. He’s so gone. This is so inconvenient. He stumbles out of bed, pulls on his snow boots and treks out into the night. The will to provide positively gnaws.

It's so annoying.

Later -

“Luh you beb,” Stiles mumbles around a thick mouthful of icy treat. He’s curled up in their bed, cuddling the pillows and blankets and tub of ice cream close. Derek can't help but mentally flash forward to... Soon. _Soon._

Derek joins him, hunkering down and nosing at the expanse of skin between Stiles’ chin and sleep shirt until Stiles recoils with a laugh, batting at him with a spoon dripping white.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Derek replies, reclaiming his spot. He shuts his eyes and inhales deep, smelling nothing but sweetness.


	2. dress rehearsal

They're watching Chopped, and Derek is engrossed with how this episode's chefs can _possibly_ concoct an entree with twizzlers, sardines and pork belly when -

" _ **Derek!**_ " The grip on Derek's hand is tight, sweaty, and it takes just enough time to see the drawn look on Stiles' face for Derek to realize some shit is seriously up.

"Fuck!" Derek jumps up from the recliner, reality TV show conundrums be damned, and practically smothers Stiles with his body, sniffing for any scent of pain. "What is it? Babe? Talk to me!"

"It's -" Stiles breaks off with a gasp. He curls into himself and nods frantically. "It's time."

"It's time?" Derek echoes dumbly, his human brain on standby as he continues to smooth his hands over Stiles' body, his hair. His nose is failing him. He presses Stiles close, breathing deep in and out, hearing both the babies' and Stiles heart beats above his own.

"It's coming," Stiles whimpers. "The babies are coming!" He curls onto the sofa, clutching his stomach and panting.

"It's coming," Derek repeats again, feeling prickles of terror on his neck but more importantly: the punch of adrenaline in his veins.

_It's go time, Hale. ___

"The babies are coming!" His voice sounds breathlessly victorious to his own ears, but he's already in a frenzy of movement around the house - where'd he leave his phone (he has to call Melissa, the sheriff, Scott) - the hospital duffle bag is upstairs in the spare guest room - shit, where are his shoes - where are Stiles' shoes - shit, there goes their birth plan right out the window - !

"Derek!" He hears Stiles' voice from downstairs. Derek is trying, fruitlessly, to stuff Stiles' pillow into their suitcase but he ditches that plan in an instant, just hoisting it under his arm and bolting downstairs.

"Alright, Stiles, I think I have everything, so let's go! Can you walk? Nevermind, let me just - Just remember what the birthing teacher said, alright: keep breathing!"

He stops short at the sight of Stiles, who is now completely collapsed on the couch, face obscured under the long hair he's grown out during the pregnancy.

"STILES!" He drops the suitcase and duffle bag with an abrupt thudding force that will probably dent the hardwood. He rushes to Stiles' side and hears choking, wheezing. "Oh god, Stiles - what's wrong?!" He's still clutching Stiles' pillow but the stress makes his claws pop out and puncture the fabric.

Stiles rolls to his side, and Derek sees that his eyes are watery and his face is red. "You - " Stiles gasps, clutching his stomach again. But for some other reason entirely. "You are the absolute _bomb_ , dude." He is convulsing with laughter.

"You were joking," Derek says, flatly unimpressed.

"You are gonna be such a bomb diggity daddy, Derek," Stiles sighs, evidently still a bit breathless from the theatrics and hilarity.

"Such an asshole," Derek whispers, glaring daggers at the spawn of Satan he has chosen to be his life partner and carrier of his children. "I cannot _believe_ you."

"Should have seen your _face_ ," Stiles cries gleefully. "Hahaha - Okay, ow. Now my stomach actually does hurt."

Derek (gently) smacks Stiles face with his pillow.


	3. you gotta fight for your right

"Who the hell decided it was a good idea for _the two of you_ to procreate?"

The snotty question has been posed to Derek and Stiles more than once.

"But like - _how_?" they (people) demand, eyes alight with curiosity and perhaps disgust. Derek, drunk with Alpha virility, willfully interprets it as _awe_ and maybe even _envy_. He pulls Stiles close, trailing a hand down burgeoning dips and curves. Feels the vibration of life - _lives_ \- under his fingertips and Stiles' smile against his cheek and knows with certainty that they are good and right.

"Magic spell!" Derek answers, as Stiles simultaneously says "Evil curse!" They stare at each other and attempt to smother their grins.

"But seriously though." Stiles extricates himself from under Derek's arm and turns to confront their interrogator. His smile flattens solemnly, his hands steepled. "You see, when two men love each other very very much - "

"And one has an intractable sex drive," Derek mutters.

"And the other has an inordinate amount of mutant werewolf sperm," Stiles continues placidly. "Miracles can happen." There's a moment of silence before Stiles, in mock indignation, whirls around and smacks Derek in the shoulder. " _One_ of us has an intractable sex drive? Well hey, buddy, if you've got _complaints_ -"

"No, no complaints," Derek assures him. He draws Stiles back to him, and Stiles goes with only a minimal amount of bitching.

"We should probably workshop the origin story," Stiles says, fiddling with the two strings dangling from Derek's hat. It's a ridiculous thing - woolen, multicolored, crowned with a large pompom on top. Stiles bought it for him ironically. Derek wears it unironically. It's actually a good hat: warm, not too heavy, just enough insulation. And it gives Stiles something to play with during times and talks like these.

"We'll have to figure something out soon," Derek says, watching Stiles twist the strings further and further, tie a bow and then untie it. "But we have a little time."

"Mmhm," Stiles agrees. "We're just running out the clock at this point."

"We'll tell them the truth, obviously," Derek says. Stiles nods.

"Oh yeah. Obviously."

The truth is - well. The truth is that it's Beacon Hills.

And it's Derek. And it's Stiles. And Derek realized some time ago (insert years, months, days here - who really cares) that he could live without Stiles. He had lived without Stiles plenty. He doesn't want to, but he could. It would just hurt like hell. (Yes, even more than that time Stiles had a nightmare and knee'd Derek in the balls. _Fuck_ werewolf healing; that shit will still hurt.) And Stiles. Well, Stiles realized the ache inside him could soften, recede when Derek was around. So they stuck their broken pieces together and it didn't feel like a repair. It was definitely something else. They liked it.

Also the sex was fantastic. That helped too.

When Derek pinpoints the moment - The Moment - he shivers a bit with the recollection. There's a good chance that he'd break into hives and Stiles would outright vomit if either of them dared utter the phrase _make love_ \- but. It was special. It was good. Whatever they made - "Like **_babies_** , you shit for brains" Stiles interjects helpfully - it was special and good and right.

Derek remembers the moments after, lying together in the darkness and quiet. Stiles cradling Derek's head against his chest. Derek counting time by the beats of their hearts and waves of breath.

"We have some time before," Derek remembers whispering. He flicked his eyes downward. "You know." Stiles nodded sleepily and fumbled for the remote control. After pressing some buttons he flung it across the room. Derek snorted. "Nice."

" _ **WHO LIVES IN A PINEAPPLE UNDER THE SEA**_ "

Derek would have leapt up in rage had it not been for their predicament. "Stiles! You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me."

"Oh shut up," Stiles groaned, rubbing soothing circles on Derek's shoulder. "You got to pick last time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes? No? Maybe So?


	4. nice to meet you

Derek gets to cut the cords. It takes a few seconds because it's tougher than it looks.

Stiles is proud that he maintained a cool exterior all day. Sang along to the radio on the drive over to the clinic, loudly and purposefully off-key. Cracked jokes as Deaton administered the epidural (planned c-sections for the win, woohoo). Nothing but the slight wobbliness of his smile and the tight grip he kept on Derek betrayed his nerves as the blue drape went up.

But when the first cry pierces the air and Stiles hears Melissa coo _"Happy Birthday"_ \- he can't help it. He bursts into tears.

There's one for each of them. They promise not to pick favorites now, but who knows what will happen down the line. Maybe one inherits Derek's fondness for gardening and the other has an affinity for comic books. All Stiles knows is that he's never experienced love like this before. He feels bloated and dizzy with it. Also, slightly exhausted. "That's to be expected," Deaton assures him as he perfunctorily dabs away flecks of blood on Stiles' abdomen. And holy shit, there was a lot of blood. The drape hid most of the horror show, but the puddles on the floor tell a story of their own.

"You're the best," is all Stiles can weep, and even he is unsure as to who he is addressing. The twin bundles of adorable. The doctor. Melissa. The terrified but obviously elated werewolf whose face looks like its painfully stretched by the grin its wearing. Stiles flings out an arm, mindless of the cords and tubes, and pulls Derek close to him. He can't seem to form any more words at this point. He's trembling.

Derek brushes a kiss against Stiles' brow and hands him a baby. Stiles isn't sure which one. He clutches it close all the same and peers down in awe.

"This is so amazing. So amazing," he declares through chattering teeth. He can't help but glance to the bedside, where Deaton and Melissa are casting blue towels to cover the mess. "Also super gross. Holy shit. How am I alive right now."

"It'd take a lot more than this to take you down," is Derek's answer. He's cradling his own twin like a pro.

"You're the best," Stiles repeats. He's still shivering, so Melissa considerately drapes some warmed blankets over his shoulders. The baby in his arms yawns, unperturbed. "Oh man. Oh man. Holy shit."

"Yeah," Derek agrees.

"Bring my dad in, Melissa, he's probably crawling the walls." A tiny fist grabs Stiles' finger and doesn't let go. "Tell him - tell him I had the babies. I - _holy shit_ , Derek, we had the babies!"

"Yeah." The look on Derek's face is positively dopey. "Yeah, we did."

"We're _dads._ "

"Mmmhmm."

"Oh man," Stiles says. "I love you."

"You're not so bad yourself."

**Author's Note:**

> sequel? maybe??


End file.
